


fridge magnets

by ybcpatrick



Series: Pete And Patrick Do Mundane Couple-y Shit [7]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Fridge Magnets, M/M, cmslcmskslmcls this is STUPID I love it, married peterick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 00:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11956008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ybcpatrick/pseuds/ybcpatrick
Summary: “Pete, we are two grown men in our thirties. If we want colour in our kitchen, we'll get a fucking plant.”OR, Pete shouldn't be allowed in the baby section of Walmart.





	fridge magnets

**Author's Note:**

> TWO FICS IN ONE NIGHT WHAT KINDA SORCERY
> 
> I've been sitting on this for a while so I hope you enjoy it!

///////

The new house was boring.

Okay, maybe boring was the wrong word. It certainly wasn't boring. It had plenty of promise and charm, and it was basically a “super fun maze” at that exact moment, with unpacked boxes littering the floor. So, due to the constant threat of tripping, definitely not boring. Maybe more…dull. Colourless.

Yes, colourless, that was the word Pete was looking for. The kitchen was especially so, with brand new stainless steel appliances, a grey cool-toned backsplash, black counters and white cupboards. It was all monochromatic, and while Patrick loved it (he'd be the one using the kitchen more anyways, since he loved to bake), Pete thought it ought to have something more.

So, logically, he made the adult decision to buy three packages of children’s alphabet fridge magnets.

He couldn't help but giggle like a child as he stuck each letter to the fridge, brightening the room up with every addition. Patrick wasn't home, he would be at label meetings with possible collaborators all day, so it was the perfect opportunity to add some Wentzian flare. As he stuck the final letter on, Pete suddenly got an idea. Grinning from ear to ear, he began grabbing letters, rearranging them into the perfect sentence to hopefully ease the inevitable blow from his husband he'd get later.

**PETE N PATRICK FOREVS**

Smirking at his handiwork, Pete stepped back, took a picture of the words with his phone, and carried on with his day like he didn't do a thing.

///////

“What the _fuck_.” Patrick said from downstairs. Pete stifled his laughter behind his hand, jogging down to the kitchen with the towel from his shower draped on his shoulders.

“What?” He asked, feigning innocence. Patrick turned to him, arms crossed and face unimpressed.

“Don't you ‘what’ me. When did Sesame Street throw up on our fridge?" Patrick grumbled, flinging a hand in the direction of the magnets. He giggled, stepping towards his husband with a lazy grin.

“I just thought we needed a bit of colour in here, new house and all.” Pete reasoned, talking his fingers into the belt loops on Patrick's slacks. The younger man scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Pete, we are two grown men in our thirties. If we want colour in our kitchen, we'll get a fucking plant.”

“Well, we also have kids! Young ones, who can barely spell. Well, save for Bronx, he can spell fine. But still!” Pete tugged Patrick in so they were flush, resting his hands on his soft waist. Patrick rolled his eyes, arms falling to his side.

“You're unbelievable—“

“Don't you think it'd be nice for Saint and Dec to learn with shapes on the fridge? Wouldn’t that be cute? And besides, it also saves us having to buy a whiteboard for messages.” Pete continued, smiling widely with pleading eyes. Finally, Patrick groaned, setting his hands on top of Pete's.

“Alright, I guess.” He sighed.

“Yay!"

"But not because of you," Patrick added, “For the kids, they can stay.”

“Still yay!” Pete insisted, rocking on the balls of his feet. Laughing in spite of himself, Patrick pulled Pete’s towel over his face. He pried his hands off his waist, making his way out of the kitchen.

“Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get out of this suit.”

///////

The next morning the practicality of the stupid magnets became apparent to Patrick. He woke up more tired than he had been when he’d fallen asleep. Growling, he rolled over, seeking out his husband. Only cool sheets met him. Realizing he wouldn't be getting back to sleep anytime soon, Patrick sighed grumpily, throwing himself out of bed.

Trudging down the stairs, Patrick made a beeline to the kitchen. His eyes were barely open as he pulled a mug from the cupboard, then fumbled for the handle of the coffee pot. When he lifted it though, there was nothing in it.

“What. The fuck.” Patrick snarled, staring at the empty pots with murderous intent. Feeling the base, his frown grew even deeper; it had never even brewed.

Shoving the coffee pot back into the maker angrily, Patrick hissed out a string of curses. Where the fuck was Pete? Why was there no coffee? Huffing, he kicked the stool towards the fridge, aiming to grab the coffee grinds from the cupboards above. He stopped just in front of it though, noting that the goddamn magnets had moved.

 **DCD THING  
COFFEE IN**  
**MICROWAVE**

Patrick squinted at the letters for a long time, not quite processing the words in his still sleep-addled brain. Finally, the word “coffee” registered, and he practically flew to the microwave. In it, a large, two sugar cup from Dunkin' Donuts sat, looking for all the world to Patrick like the Holy Fucking Grail. Sighing with sudden serenity, he gently pulled the still-hot cup out, taking a ginger sip.

The magnets weren't that bad.

///////

 

A couple nights later, the band was breaking in the new music room with a jam session. Beer was flowing, bass was thumping, and the new song they were working on sounded like a dream. Kicking back on the couch, Joe sighed dramatically, setting his guitar beside him in defeat.

“Okay, I know we’ve run through it five times now, but can we replay the bridge?” Joe asked, picking up his notes and bottle of beer, “Something in my progression doesn't feel right.”

“Here, how ‘bout you and I play, and we can figure out what's not clicking.” Patrick offered. Joe nodded, downing the rest of his drink in one swig.

“A’ight,” He said, “But first, I'm gonna go grab another beer.” A series of acknowledging grunts arose from his band mates, and Joe slipped up the stairs without another word. A beat passed in the room, comfortably silent as the men fiddled with their instruments. Pete’s head suddenly shot up. Hesitantly, he tapped his husband on the shoulder, earning a noncommittal noise in return.

“Did…did we rescramble the fridge magnets?” Pete asked, worry lacing his words. Patrick froze, midway through retuning a string.

“Oh my _god_.” He whispered, horrified eyes meeting Pete's. Andy's gaze shifted between the two, dumbfounded.

“What does it say?”

A sudden shriek rang through the house, and both Pete and Patrick winced.

“I need brain bleach!” Joe cried, running back down to the basement with one hand over his eyes and the other gripping his beer, white-knuckled. Face contorted in sheer terror, he jabbed a shaking finger at Pete. “You're fucking sick! That shouldn't happen to asses!”

It took ten minutes for Patrick to look Joe in the eyes again, and three more after that for Andy to stop laughing and calm down enough to resume their session.

///////

**DO THE FUCKIN DISHES**

Patrick scoffed at the fridge, brows knitting together. Like fuck he was about to do that shit. It wasn't his turn! It was Tuesday! Huffing, Patrick swiped the message away, collecting his coffee and iPad off the counter. Turning heel, he stalked out of the kitchen, returning to his chair in the living room.

It only took a moment for Patrick to realize he had forgotten his notebook in the kitchen. Sighing heavily, he went back the way he came. He jumped at the sight of the fridge, though; the message was already back.

**I SAID DISHES**

Patrick’s eyes blew wide, confusion setting in. He crossed the tiles to the fridge, tentative. Frowning at the magnets, he swiped them again, setting to work on his own message.

**YOUR NIGHT DICKHEAD  
IT’S TUESDAY**

Satisfied, Patrick grabbed his notebook off the counter, pretending not to notice Pete's appalled scoff from behind the island.

///////

Pete stumbled into the house, fumbling for the light switch in the dark. The kitchen lights flared to life, feeling far too harsh for one in the morning. He hissed, scrunching his eyes against them. Brendon had invited him out for a night of fun, and Patrick had let him go without issue, happy to spend an evening with the kids.

That was seven hours ago.

Shit.

Dumping his phone and wallet on the counter, Pete dove for a glass and Tylenol, feeling a headache from the lighting in the bar building behind his eyes. When he went to pull out the water jug from the fridge, though, he paused. Each of their kids had their names spelt out in the letter magnets, holding up a picture of what Pete assumed was meant to be their family.

Bronx’s was nice and clear, with names labelled nicely over each person in the drawing. The toddlers’ were both less… legible. Meaning, of course, that they were mainly just scribbles, with Patrick's printing overtop of specific clusters of lines. Patrick had even drawn one, too, he and Pete holding hands with the kids surrounding them. Each of them in the drawing had a goofy smile, wide and cheerful.

Pete’s heart melted. His hands settled over his mouth, feeling his chest swell with love at the little doodles.

“I was wondering when you'd get home.” Patrick rasped behind him, voice thick with sleep. Pete whirled around, apologies already dancing on the tip of his tongue, but Patrick shushed him with a finger. “You don't need to be sorry, don't do that. Did you have fun with Brendon?”

Pete only nodded feebly, lips still pressed to silence by Patrick. Patrick grinned back, taking his finger away.

“Good. Take off your shoes, pop your pills, and come to bed, I haven't been able to sleep yet because you weren't here.”

Pete nodded again, kicking his shoes away from him and letting the tension melt from his shoulders for the first time all night.

///////

**HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TRICK  
ILYSM**

Patrick sighed dreamily at the letters, setting his shopping bag on island. Grinning, he dove into it, pulling out the day’s main purchase.

Number magnets.

Unable to stop himself from laughing lightly, Patrick tore open the package, scattering the numbers between the sea of letters. They'd probably need to get more later, of course, but for now two of each number between 0 and 9 would work out perfectly. Standing back with his hands on his hips, Patrick admired his handiwork.

But there was still something off.

“Oh!” Patrick murmured softly to himself, tweaking Pete's original message. He rearranged, smiling brightly as he did. Nodding with satisfaction, Patrick tossed the empty plastic packages in the garbage, wandering out of the kitchen after that.

“Hey, babe?” He called up the stairs.

“Yeah?” Pete responded from the music room.

“Go check out the fridge!”

**HAPPY 1ST ANNIVERSARY PETE  
ILY2**   
**MORE THAN U KNO**

///////

**Author's Note:**

> find me on Tumblr and instagram @angelofthedamnlord and talk to me pls I'm lonely


End file.
